


Worth

by DeadmanDairyland



Category: Hey Arnold!
Genre: F/M, Inspired by Moral Orel, Inspired by The Patakis, Underage Drinking
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2021-01-20
Updated: 2021-01-20
Packaged: 2021-03-12 16:29:06
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,243
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28888392
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/DeadmanDairyland/pseuds/DeadmanDairyland
Summary: Several years have passed since San Lorenzo. Two years after Arnold and his parents move away from Hillwood, the world begins to collapse around Helga. But then again, it has always been this way.Largely inspired by music and musicians featured in Moral Orel. Yes, really. Have fun.
Relationships: Helga Pataki/Arnold Shortman
Kudos: 1





	Worth

**Author's Note:**

> You know, a few months ago I probably would have never even thought about writing a Hey Arnold fic, and yet here we are. But will it be... (*puts on sunglasses*) ...worth it? (YEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEAAAAAAAAAAAAAHHHHHHHHHH)
> 
> As I mentioned in the summary, this fic is largely inspired by music and musicians featured in Moral Orel. Now if you've seen Moral Orel--that is, if you've seen the third season of Moral Orel--you probably have a lot to be afraid of right now, so I'm going to quell those fears by stating that this won't be nearly as dark as season three of Moral Orel. Mind you, I say this under the belief that it is impossible for me to write anything that dark. ...The point I'm trying to make is, this is going to be dark, just not Moral Orel season three dark. ...I am not helping, am I? Okay. Just gonna move on then.
> 
> Every chapter will be inspired by a song, the title of which will serve as the title of the chapter. At the end of the chapter, the author's note will say the name of the song, who sang it, and whether or not it was featured in an episode of Moral Orel. Yuuuuup. Honestly a part of me is actually considering including Moral Orel in the fandom list, even though no Moral Orel characters will be appearing in the fic. As for why Moral Orel inspired me to write a Hey Arnold fic, well, that I blame on the fact that I revisited both shows recently around the same time. So yeah, hopefully that explains why this fic exists.
> 
> ...Oh, and if you're wondering what inspired the title of this fic, well... that's also inspired by Moral Orel. Remember that flashback when Clay was a kid and his father told him he wasn't worth it? Yeeeeeeeeeeaaaaaaah... Have fun with that.
> 
> (...Okay, I chose that title for multiple reasons, but that was the direct inspiration. I promise Helga will get a happier ending than what that implies. So if you're worried that things are 100% downhill for Helga from here on out, I promise things will eventually get better. But that's all you're getting out of me for now.)
> 
> Fic is still a WIP and I'm not 100% sure what will all be in it. I will be tagging as the fic continues, so keep an eye on those tags. If at any point you see anything new that makes you want to opt out, feel free to do so.

It was a sunny day in Hillwood. The birds sang sweet melodies in the cloudless sky as children played in the empty residential streets below. Teenagers and young adults were out and about, working odd jobs or hanging out in their free time. It was one of those days that seemed so pleasant, the kind of day that would make even the most miserable old fool crack a smile.

If only Helga Pataki were so blessed.

To Helga it was just another Saturday, a reminder of her past mistakes and fuel for her current ones. She stared dead at the ceiling from her position on the floor, leaning against the side of her bed, an unsealed envelope in one hand and an open bottle of whiskey in the other, a bottle that Miriam Pataki had thought was well hidden. It seemed Helga wasn't the only one in the family with secrets.

Next to Helga lay her cellphone, the latest model bought for her by Big Bob himself. It seemed the hipsters really had kept the Beeper Emporium afloat. The new house wasn't so bad either. It wasn't like Helga really had any particularly fond memories of the old house anyway.

The phone lit up, the name "Phoebe" appearing clear as day, but the phone was silent, not even vibrating. Helga didn't seem to notice.

It had been two years--two _very long_ years--since that Saturday, the last Saturday she could remember feeling happy. Sure, there were probably some happy Saturdays she was forgetting, as she tended to do by the time the next Saturday rolled around, but they meant nothing if the happiness didn't last. It meant nothing if she couldn't even bring herself to let go and accept the fact that he was gone. That is, he was somewhere she wasn't, somewhere far away from her.

The unsealed envelope in her hand held yet another letter that she had failed to send to him. It sickened her that she couldn't be able to do such a simple task. All she had to do was slip it in the mailbox and leave it there, and yet it proved time and time again to be an impossible task for her. The detestable envelope was a horrid reminder of her failure, and she couldn't--she _wouldn't_ \--forget that it was entirely her fault that she was in this state to begin with.

It could have all been prevented if it wasn't for the curse of her bloodline: that Pataki pride. Not the kind of pride worth celebrating, but the kind that brought about hubris. The kind of pride that stole one sister's childhood and never gave one to the other sister. That boastful arrogance, that sheer disgust and hatred for everyone else, passed down from father to daughter, whether Helga wanted to admit it or not. But how else could she explain why she would have the audacity of demanding that he stay with her, when he was still trying to make up for lost time with his parents? And yet despite all the things she said, the years of bile she thought she had gotten rid of long ago building up once more to say things that should never have been spoken, for some reason he, his heart so frustratingly pure and kind, continued to share his family's adventures with her through paper and ink, as if he somehow knew she hadn't meant what she said. How he could see right through her and still believe in her despite her giving him every reason not to is something she would never understand.

When she first started receiving letters from him, she was angry. Still bitter over the fact that he had left her all alone, she had thought he was rubbing it in. And yet if that were the case then she had no right to blame him, not after all the abuse she put him through when they were younger. Having salt thrown on the wound was, in all honesty, what she truly deserved. And yet somehow it was the revelation that his letters were genuine that broke her. Because then the fact that she had broken up with him so harshly, just one day after a perfect date and a passionate kiss that her younger self had only dared to dream about, over the crime of him wanting to be with his family, had become all the more apparent. That beautiful nonromantic love that flowed through every letter, that genuine desire to continue to reach out to her, to bring her just a little spark of happiness in her daily life. He had warned her, too. "I'll write you every month, so you'll know I haven't forgotten you." At the time she agreed half-heartedly, believing that these were just words designed to make her feel better, that what he really wanted was to be as far away from her as physically possible, thousands of miles away in another land, no one around to call him "Football Head" or threaten to hit him for even showing just the slightest amount of affection for her while out in public, and yet every month a letter would come in the mail, just like he said. And the funny thing was, all she would have to do to make those letters stop coming was to tell him to stop sending them. That was their agreement, and the truth was that she probably would have actually sent him a letter by now if she wanted him to stop, and she had a feeling he knew that too.

Her brain couldn't even process someone having so much faith in her to still be sending her letters two years later despite never having gotten a reply, with no way of even knowing if she had gotten any of the others, which were all stored away in a shoebox under her bed, next to the shoebox full of letters she had written for him that she had failed to send. By now there had to have been at least a hundred unsent letters in that second shoebox, half of which were just her apologizing for the horrible things she said to him. How could someone not give up after all that time? And yet it was so in character of him to keep reaching out to her. It was what she loved most about him, and what she despised most about him.

It felt unnerving, feeling so close to him when he was so far away, knowing he couldn't know what was happening to her, as she slipped further into the abyss that began forming in her mind when she realized she couldn't deal with any of this shit without him. This dependency was a horrific nightmare in the making, one that not even weekly therapy sessions with Dr. Bliss had been able to cure. That was something she had always known. He was her lifeline, the one person she looked forward to seeing every day, the one person worth getting out of bed in the morning to see. She knew that the moment he decided to leave Hillwood, it would only be a matter of time before the world collapsed around her.

This she thought unironically as her phone continued to light up with Phoebe's name without her knowledge. The world had already collapsed. And the whiskey reached her lips to fill the void that he left behind.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Song: "Saturday" by Io Perry. Featured in Moral Orel S2E3 "Satan"


End file.
